Sticks And Stones Might Break My Bones
by dipdipdipmyblueship
Summary: Set two months after Peter and Leanne's wedding blessing. Peter has begun piecing his life back together following the exposure of Leanne's infidelity and has set his sights on exacting revenge on Carla for her role in keeping the affair a secret. But his revenge turns sour when his lust for the factory boss turns into something far deeper...
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: So this story is the result of a bet I lost with a few Carter fans via twitter. It is long overdue to be uploaded, and I have changed it to a multi-chapter based fic as opposed to a one shot of pure 'Fifty Shades' inspired smut. Obviously I have changed the timeline and events from Corrie, but all will be explained throughout the chapters.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, but I do own the story! :)**_

_**Story takes place beginning in April 2011** _

* * *

His finger slowly edged around the rim of his glass, his eyes lazily glancing towards the main doors as yet another punter entered the establishment for the evening.

He felt a wave of disappointment; like his stomach was in freefall. For the tenth or so time since he sat down in the worn but comfortable booth in the Rovers Return, the person opening the doors to the pub was not the one he was expecting to see; the one he had summoned all of his pent-up courage, anger, and sexual frustration for.

He cast his brown eyes downwards, eyeing his orange juice with a rather despondent hatred, wondering that if he imagined the cool, crisp golden liquid he craved clear enough in his mind, if his bland juice would suddenly transform into a refreshing whiskey.

"So how is Simon doing now?" a kind voice asked from beside him, "you know…since umm, well it's been over a month now in'it?"

Peter shifted his gaze to the blonde barmaid and her husband who now stood next to him at the booth. He raised the glass to his lips, his mind floating back to two months' prior…

"_I need to talk to Leanne!" _

_Peter shifted his tear-stained face towards his son's small voice before looking back sadly towards Ken._

"_She knows you didn't mean what you said love, you were very upset" Dierdre assured the little boy as she hugged him tightly in front of her, but her words fell upon deaf ears as Simon kept his eyes locked on his dad's face,_

"_I need to talk to her!" he pleaded helplessly_

_Seeing his son begin to waiver in his stubborn resolve, Ken gently prodded him, "Maybe you can both talk to her… if she doesn't get on that train…"_

_The bookie swallowed the sob that threatened to burst free and gazed back at his son's face, gripping the crutch purposefully as though he would cease to breathe if it was torn from his fingers. Within minutes he was making a call to Streetcars…_

Peter swallowed a mouthful of orange juice, his eyes drifting back up to Becky, "yeah," he responded firmly, his tongue darting out across his top lip, "yeah about two months. Si's you know, he's coping. It's difficult still for him to come to terms with it, but I think our holiday to Spain did him some good."

"Well it looks as though it definitely agreed with you an' all," Steve responded, "I mean look at you: lost some weight, got a nice tan, grew out a little facial hair I see, _and_ bonus! That crutch of yours is nowhere in sight! No one who looks at you now would think you had a tram come down on your head just a few months ago."

Peter chuckled, "yeah," he nodded, his fingers idly playing with the glass in his hand, "You know I thought waking up in that hospital bed after me heart stopped was my being second chance at a new life," his lips curled up into a nostalgic smile, "but no. No my re-birth was on the day of my wedding blessing. That day marked a fresh start for both me and my son. One that no longer includes Leanne."

"I still can't believe that you chased her all the way to Victoria Station to try and stop her getting on that train, ready to forgive her, only to…-" Becky trailed off, her eyes focused on the table in front of her and her head shaking slightly,

"-to find her making out with her lover on the train's platform," Peter finished for her, "while me son stood there gripping me hand, not understanding what was going on. Asking me why Leanne was kissing 'Uncle Nick'." At Steve and Becky's sympathetic looks, Peter sighed deeply before continuing, "yeah it were hard to see. Even harder to deal with. Even as she pleaded with me, again, to forgive her. Even as she stood there on the platform making excuses about her head being a jumbled mess and how she thought we were well and truly over." He took another sip of his drink, "in some ways I'm glad Simon witnessed that you know? As much as it hurt him I'm glad he knows the truth now of why I'm not with Leanne anymore. I'm glad he stopped blaming me. But I also despise her for doing that to him you know? For letting him down in the cruelest way possible."

"Well, you's both are better off without her then aren't you?" Becky stated supportingly

"Too right we are," Peter agreed, raising his glass to her in a mock toast, "and that holiday did us both a world of good. But now we're back home where we belong…"

Peter trailed off when the doors to the pub swung open and his mischievous eyes came to rest on the person he had been waiting to see since he arrived back on Coronation Street. He followed her movements as she and Maria giggled and sashayed arm in arm to the bar behind a man the bookie did not recognize. She hadn't yet seen him in the booth, Steve and Becky made for good, yet unknowing, shields; but through the small gap between them, Peter's eyes continued to bore into the woman's slender body, lazily scanning her from head to foot with a repressed hunger. "yeah, back at home for good," he chuckled, his lips tugging into a devilish smile as he shifted his gaze back up to Becky again, "and I have so many people to catch up with…"

"Right ladies, what are we having?" Frank asked, leaning on the bar and facing the two women

"Oh I'll have a white wine, ta!" Maria chirped with a smile

"Red for me thanks," Carla responded absentmindedly as her eyes quickly scanned the pub. She had the most peculiar feeling she was being watched…

"And a pint for me please Sean," Frank concluded

"Righto Mr. Foster!" Sean stated while Frank gestured to a side table near the door for the women to occupy.

Though Steve was talking rather animatedly to him, Peter could no longer make out what his friend was saying. Something or other about fishing, or perhaps it was the sea. Most likely that old clichéd expression that there are plenty of fish in the sea, but whatever it was it mattered not to Peter. All that mattered to him now was the raven-haired woman he couldn't stop thinking about. The woman who had enchanted him since October the year before; the woman he had rejected on two distinct occasions prior to the tram crash; the woman who had quite literally backed off of him following that horrific accident, and had been nothing more than a supportive friend and confidante when he fell quite spectacularly off the wagon.

But that hadn't stopped him from publicly feeding her to the proverbial wolves that day in February…

"…_but I won that fight, I would have been faithful, isn't that right Carla?" _he shuddered visibly as that day flashed through his mind again. He could still hear himself call to her in the church, taking everyone by surprise, except for himself…

…and _**her**_.

He could see it in her body language; the way she sat hunched over almost hugging herself as he exposed the affair. She knew it was only a matter of time before he would turn on her as well, and she had been right. He had already called out Leanne and Nick's infidelity and the fact that Ken and Dierdre had both known about it and had attempted to keep it hidden from him, preferring that he live in ignorant bliss for the sake of his son.

But it was Carla's betrayal that had cut the deepest. Despite only knowing each other for a short time, they had shared a deep bond in recent months; an understanding that he didn't have with his family, his friends, not even Leanne. He was attracted to her, he even admitted as much to her the night she confessed her feelings for him following the Joinery's opening night. He continued to be there for her, helping her through with her drinking problems, and being there supportively when her license was suspended for drink driving.

As the weeks passed though, the calls from her became rather frustrating; not because he found her annoying, but because he couldn't deny his growing attraction for her. The more time he spent with her, the harder he continued to fall for her. She didn't see him the way others did. She saw him as her confidante…her hero. She needed him. And to him that was a refreshing and reassuring feeling…to be _needed_; especially by a woman who appeared to need no one, who came off so strong and independent. But he had seen her vulnerability first hand. He had heard how much she suffered through the years and how difficult it was to continue to wear her façade to the world: _'the tough cookie. The loud mouth with a dirty giggle.'_ And try as he might, he couldn't help but be pulled towards her. He wanted to protect her, to care for her…

…But he had loved Leanne, of that he had convinced himself.

But as he mulled things over late at night in his hotel in Mallorca, he started to question why it was the discovery that _Carla _had known about Leanne's infidelity from the get go that wounded him the deepest. If she had really meant nothing more than a friend to him, he wouldn't have felt the urge to disgrace her in public; to make her feel as embarrassed and humiliated as he did. But her betrayal had cut him straight to his heart, and he couldn't resist lashing out at her…

"_Yeah, Leanne's best mate there…crackin' lookin' bird, I think you'll all agree! But a lot like my best man as it transpires." He could see her struggling to contain her emotions, staring at a spot on the back of the pew ahead of her as she tried her best to conceal the tears that lined her hauntingly beautiful green eyes; and yet her meekness egged him on, further propelling his anger and rage, _

"_You see while me and this tart were planning our wedding, Carla was doing her damndest to get me into bed. Told me she loved me no less, loved me!" He nearly stopped as their eyes connected, the quizzical look in her eyes as he revealed that he had in fact heard her heartfelt confession at his bedside in the hospital; but his anger at them all, at Leanne, Nick, his father, his step-mother, and at __**her**__, urged him onwards, "in fact she 'loved' me so much that when she found out about these two she kept quiet an' all! Secretly hoping I'd tweak it meself and come running to her. Well as you can see Carla, I'm not running anywhere…"_

He had watched with a mixture of satisfaction and regret as she hurriedly stood up and strode out of the church, trying to keep up her façade in place to those in the church, but her stifled sniffles had given away her true emotions. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel guilty about it, but he was too proud and stubborn to admit it.

But now here they both were: Her, unknowing that he was back, and him, desperate to bring his sinful plans for her to fruition. As Steve and Becky headed back behind the bar, Peter took another sip of his drink, his eyes locked onto the back of Carla's head, smiling as he worked through his proposition for her in his mind.

His glass paused on its descent back to the table as the "Foster" bloke stood up and then leaned down close to Carla's face, whispering something Peter couldn't make out. The bookie's eyes narrowed into slits as Frank's hand caressed Carla's hair almost possessively as his lips hovered above her velvety smooth cheek.

'_Who the hell is this prick?'_ Peter questioned himself angrily, his lips pressing together to suppress his barely contained jealousy. Frank rose to his full height again and headed for the toilets, providing Peter with the perfect opportunity. Downing his drink in one swift move, he quickly pressed his palms down the front of his button down shirt and smoothed his pants before rising to his feet…

"You know I gotta be honest with you Carla, I'm glad you ended up coming with me to that meeting with Frank at his house last month," Maria whispered as she leaned in close to her ex-sister-in-law, "the guy is a little too touchy-feely for my comfort."

"Tell me about it," Carla whispered back with a snicker, "though to be honest I 'ave dealt with worse before," she shuddered and pulled a face comically while raising her glass to her lips, "I just wonder what sort of business he wanted to talk to us about?" She took a sip from her wine before realizing her new assistant had fallen silent. "Hello? Earth to Maria?" she joked as she waved a hand in front of the younger woman's face. A sudden familiar waft of cologne made its way up her nostrils and she too froze in her seat. Her eyes closed momentarily as she swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Rubbing her lips together she gave her head a slight shake and deftly built up her defenses. Turning in her seat, she gazed up into the eyes of the man she both loved and hated at the moment. She nearly gasped at the sight of him; tanned, trimmed, with a dusting of facial hair…_'God he is gorgeous'_, she thought unabashedly before biting her lower lip at the nervous flip that occurred deep in the pit of her stomach. She was unsure of what his reaction would be upon seeing her for the first time since his wedding blessing, but she immediately compiled a few choice phrases to fling at him should he decide to try to humiliate her publicly once more.

Instead she received a warm but somewhat mysterious smile; "Hi Carla," he whispered rather seductively, "miss me?"


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews. They are very much appreciated! :)**_

_**I've taken a bit of a different writing style for this fic; I'm writing it with a 'Fifty Shades' inspired flair. So there will be lots of Carla's thoughts and Peter's thoughts voiced in italics throughout the fic. I will be leaving out references to 'sub-conscious' and 'inner goddess' though, as, despite my respect for E.L James, it was quite irritable in the actual Fifty Shades Trilogy. **_

_**I'm going to limit my Author's Notes in future chapters and just post the update unless I really need to point something out. But I want you all to know how much I appreciate your reviews and comments! **_

_**I also apologize in advance for spelling or grammatical errors; I will edit a little later on this afternoon. :)**_

* * *

"Uh," Carla closed her eyes and shook her head, letting out a small humourless chuckle at her discomfort, "H-hi. How ummm how-how are you?" She stuttered rather quietly.

"I'm doing well, better in the last few minutes if I'm honest..." His voice dropped a few registers, and Carla's brows furrowed as he pinned her with a salacious smirk. _What the…?_

"What are you doing 'ere?" The words slipped past her lips so quickly she didn't have the time to fully register just what she had blurted out. _'Smooth Car, reeeal smooth!'_

Peter's smirk had turned into one of sheer pleasure at her flustered demeanour as he continued to stare at her. _'Bastard'_ she swore mentally, scowling up at him before amending her question with pointed politeness, "I _**meant**_ when did you get back?"

Unable to contain his amusement, he softly ran his left hand down her hair, "why Carla, I'm truly hurt," he admonished with a pout, placing his right hand on his heart theatrically, "after all these weeks, are you honestly saying that you're not even a little bit happy to see me?" He watched as she dropped her eyes to her lap, biting the inside of her lip as she tried to control her emotions, and he couldn't resist sticking his boot in, "Stupid me. I guess I should have seen this coming eh? I mean, everyone around 'ere knows your heart has a reputation for being rather fickle, and here I was thinking I were different. Have you really moved on from me so quickly?"

Maria almost choked on her wine. She had witnessed the effect Peter's cruel behaviour had on Carla for the few weeks following the 'blessing-that-never-was', and her protective nature began seep in full force. She'd be damned if she would allow him to publicly humiliate Carla all over again

"Uhh you are kidding aren't you? What! After the stunt you pulled back at the church?" Maria asked him incredulously, her brows knitting together in pure, unbidden skepticism.

The bookie shifted his icy gaze to the hairdresser and for the briefest of seconds she had visibly squirmed uncomfortably in her seat before remembering herself.

She knew that to many on the street she came across as sweet and demure; the loveable girl next door who wouldn't hurt a fly. But the truth was Maria always had a biting tongue and a tendency to embrace her inner 'bad girl'; after all, her one night stand with her best friend Toyah's boyfriend, as well as the affair with Charlie Stubbs had proven that.

While she considered herself and Carla to be enemies for quite some time, they had since buried their past together and developed a rather close bond in recent months. Maria prided herself on her fierce loyalty to her friends and loved ones, and that made her a force to be reckoned with...

And at this particular moment, there wasn't a chance in hell that she'd let the likes of Peter flamin' Barlow push her or Carla around. Placing her wine glass down on the table, her fingers continuing to twirl the goblet, she warningly narrowed her eyes at him before speaking again, "you're one to talk about fickle hearts. I seem to recall yours not being able to choose between a certain barmaid and a florist not too long ago." She let a smile tug at her lips upon seeing the bookie's jaw twitch, "oh don't tell me the cat's got your tongue Barlow? 'Cause I reckon that's gotta be one for them record books!"

To say he was surprised by the hairdresser's sharp tongue would have been an understatement, but Peter always did have a flair for recovering from shock rather quickly. After all, he managed to plan and execute a masterful act of revenge for his wedding blessing within hours of discovering the news that his wife had been unfaithful to him for months.

"Touche Maria," he relented with a gentlemanly bow, "it's been a stressful few months for me, and I sometimes forget that I don't have much of filter between what I think and what I say some of the time."

"Pfft," Maria snorted into her glass, her eyes rolling in annoyance, "all of the time more like…" she mumbled incoherently

Smirking, Peter turned his attention back to Carla, "hey," he whispered, gently tapping her chin so that she would look up at him, "I'm sorry," he saw her visibly exhale and smiled warmly, "I didn't come here to fight, I came to talk, but I see I must have interrupted a meeting of some kind?"

"Yeah, Carla and I are meeting with a client for Underworld." Maria responded a bit snidely. Peter may be able to pull the wool over Carla's eyes, but he wouldn't fool her…

"What? You work for Underworld now?" Peter asked with a chuckle, "What happened with Audrey's?"

"Long story," Maria mumbled, taking another sip of her drink.

"Well I won't disturb you then, but maybe when you're finished with the meeting Carla you could come over to mine for a chat?" Peter asked, his eyes boring into the factory boss.

She was unable to respond for what seemed like minutes. Her mouth simply hung open limply as she attempted to respond to his question, her eyes attempting to look anywhere but into his own

_His gorgeous, warm, beautiful brown eyes_

She jolted in her seat, pulled from her thoughts and back to reality as Peter's hand softly cupped her chin, his thumb lazily tracing her bottom lip.

"Breathe Carla," he ordered her gently, a chuckle escaping him as his gaze lowered to her full, plump mouth.

_'Oh the things I could do to that mouth,'_ he thought unabashedly. He felt a familiar twitch in his groin, a rapid heat beginning to deliciously transcend to his nether regions. He smirked in spite of himself as his thumb continued to caress her lower lip and his tongue flicked along his own in response to his wicked thoughts.

Maria watched the two of them apprehensively for a short time. There was no denying the sexual tension between them, that was a given. She was more than sure that others on the street would very well say that Peter and Carla deserved each other as they were just as selfish as the other. And from an outsiders perspective she could understand why they would take that stance.

But Maria wasn't an outsider.

No, she knew from bitter experience how selfish Carla Connor could be.  
On the other hand, the hairdresser had seen firsthand the cruel and selfish side of Peter Barlow as well; after all, the spectacle he had put on at his own wedding blessing was more than clear evidence of that.

The difference between them though, was that Peter's selfishness was based out of a sense of entitlement. The bookie was incredibly child-like when he didn't get his way and he would unleash his anger upon those around him like a tornado. Carla's selfishness though, was a reaction to the mistreatment from her own family as well as the Connor clan in her formative years. She felt she had to play tough, manipulate and prod others, the same way she had been treated since she began dating Paul. Her bitchy facade was simply that; a mask that hid the vulnerable, self-conscious woman beneath the designer gear, high heels and makeup, and Maria often found herself wondering what the factory boss was like prior to falling under the Connor family's umbrella.

It had taken Maria a long time to come to terms with her dead husband's betrayal, and she had spent month after month finding reason upon reason to hate Carla for being the woman that Liam loved. But in recent months, more specifically since just before the tram crash, Maria had found it increasingly difficult to stay angry at the factory boss. She saw vulnerability in Carla that not many had the opportunity to see, not even Michelle. She also saw her selfless nature, coming to the aid of Fiz during her premature labour, and the way she insisted on buying food for the residents of Coronation Street when the cafe and pub ran out of supplies.

Yes, as much as it had pained her to admit it, she knew that Carla had put Maria, Liam's, and their unborn child's happiness above her own just hours before Liam was murdered.

Beneath her 'ice queen' mantra, Carla had a good heart. A kind heart. And as she took a sip of wine, her gaze shifting from the woman she now deemed a friend to the man who had cruelly embarrassed the woman not two months ago, Maria couldn't help but fear that it was Carla's heart that would be toyed with and ultimately shattered by the unpredictable Peter Barlow.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes' then, shall I?" Peter responded smugly just as Frank walked back to the table

"Not interrupting am I?" Frank asked smoothly, his eyes lowering to blaze onto Peter's hand which continued to caress Carla's chin and lower lip.

"Not at all," Peter responded, holding out the offending hand to this 'client' of Carla's. "Peter Barlow," he introduced

"Frank Foster," the man replied, placing his hand in Peter's and giving it a shake with far more aggression than needed. "Please let me buy you a drink."

Peter chuckled to himself as he released his hand. The man was obviously as envious of Peter as he was of him…

"No thanks I'm uhh I'm not staying, I just came over to invite Carla around for a chat and maybe a bite to eat after your meeting," he looked back to the woman still sitting and gaping at him in confusion, "I'm just waiting for a response?"

Carla swallowed the lump in her throat. '_It would be good to clear the air'_, she thought. Sitting up a little straighter in her chair, she cleared her throat and smiled at the bookie, "Yeah. Yeah, I'll come round after our meeting."

"Great!" Peter smiled enthusiastically, "Well I shall leave you to it. Nice to meet you Frank, see you soon Maria," he leaned down and gave Carla a quick peck on the cheek before moving his lips to her ear, "bring your appetite love, you're gonna need it." His words washed over her. '_Was that a threat?_ ' She asked herself as she watched Peter leave the Rovers. Maybe agreeing to his offer wasn't such a good idea…

She shook her head and turned in her chair, plastering on her trademark smile, "Right Frank," she began, "So what did you want to talk to us about?"


	3. Chapter 3

It was an hour later that Carla found herself standing outside the bookie's flat with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She shifted from foot to foot and bit her bottom lip as she raised her hand to the buzzer, stopping short when she realized her hand was shaking. Lowering it abruptly, she stepped away from the buzzer and paced nervously in a circle as she shook her hands repeatedly at her sides in an effort to halt the trembling. _'God I am so pathetic!'_ she chastised herself angrily, _'come on pull yourself together Car.' _She took a few deep, even breathes, closing her eyes and placing her hands out in front of her to steady herself; Squaring her shoulders, she shook her hair out of her face and turned to face the door again. Reaching up once more, her fingers hovered for a split second prior to pressing the call button beside her before fumbling with the shoulder strap on her bag.

"Yeah?" came the abrupt response through the intercom.

"It's Carla," she answered, a little higher pitched than normal.

"Come on up," Peter stated. She swore she could practically hear him smirking as she was granted access.

'_What the hell is he up to?_' she thought warily as she pushed open the door and closed it tightly behind her.

Her eyes gazed at the slightly ajar door at the top of the stairs and tentatively took the first step up. Her ears were picking up the faintest music from above, which became increasingly louder and more prominent as she ascended the staircase. She gently pushed the door open to a welcoming aroma of spice and peered around the frame.

"Hey," The bookie greeted her as he stepped into her line of vision whilst quickly drying his hands with a towel, "glad you could make it," his voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned over and planted a tender kiss on her cheek, an action that sent a flutter from Carla's heart straight down to her nether regions. _Whoa._

"Well it was a choice of either dinner 'ere, or a cup of instant noodles at 'ome so," she teased as she deftly moved around him and into the flat, desperate to put a bit of space between them. She kept her back to him as she pretended to look about the apartment, trying to unknowingly remove the multitude of dirty thoughts plaguing her brain about his new leaner, muscled body…

His tanned, rock-hard, tattooed, muscled…

Her mouth became instantly dry as a natural heat spread through her body and pooled south of her waistline. _'Damn traitorous body' _she scowled inwardly, pursing her lips together and looking up towards the ceiling in frustration.

Peter leaned against the doorframe for a moment, idly playing with the towel in his hand while his eyes scanned over the woman in front of him. She looked so damned irresistible and vulnerable when she entered the flat that it took all of his self control not to wrap the towel around her waist, pull her into him and devour her right there against the wall. But that would have only sent him back to the drawing board, and he had already put too much thought and work into this plan of his to just chuck it away in a moment of pure, unadulterated lust.

He could feel his arousal pulsing in his jeans and had to get himself back to proper equilibrium before he blew his whole proposal. He needed to remember _why _he was doing this, _why_ he was angry with _her_, and _why_ he had devised this ultimate plan for revenge on her in the first place.

He continued to study her as she kept her back to him, smirking in satisfaction as she pretended to look around the apartment in an obvious effort to quell her rushing arousal. _'Good to know I still affect her,'_ he thought, _'that'll come in very handy in the next few hours…'_

He paused mid-thought, frowning as she shifted her stance before him and he scrutinized the way she was now holding herself: her arms wrapped around her mid-section, her shoulders hunching forward ever so slightly as she lowered her gaze to the floor, and the ball of her right foot began to rotate softly on the carpet.

Very _un-Carla_ like.

His brows furrowed and he couldn't help but gape when it finally hit him. She was nervous. _**Her**_. Ms. 'always-in-control, take-no-prisoners' Connor was standing in his flat, _nervous_! He would have laughed out loud had the very thought not knocked him for six. Had he got this wrong? Had he got _her _wrong?

_No_. He shook his head to clear his doubt. No, she is exactly what he knows her to be: a manipulative temptress. A damaged woman who dealt with her fair share of love and loss yes, but it made her cold and selfish. Made her a woman who would dump her best friend for a chance to bed her fiancée for nothing more than bragging rights. For the opportunity to say that she could. To prove to herself that she could get any man she desired until she tired of him and moved on to her next victim.

After all if she cared for him the way she 'claimed' to, she wouldn't have let him go through with his engagement knowing Leanne was two timing him. She wouldn't have knowingly put him through that sort of pain **unless** _she_ was going to benefit from his suffering.

Oh yes. A true black widow in designer gear.

In his mind, he had her figured out. And when he was through with her, once he would have his lustful fill of her, she would never think of luring him into her web again.

"Where's Simon?" her voice seemed rather small as it reached his ears and he offered her a small smile as she turned to face him.

"At me dad and Dierdre's. Him and Amy are working together on a family tree project for parent's night or something." He responded evenly, his eyes boring into hers

"Oh right," she answered with a nod, her eyes finally breaking from his rather intimidating stare.

"Well uhh, listen, dinner's almost ready, so why don't you make yourself comfortable love," Peter said happily, making his way into the kitchenette and throwing the tea towel over his shoulder, "help yourself to some fizzy water if you like, it's on the table there," he stated, placing his oven mitts on his hands as he bent down to retrieve the trays from the oven, "of course if you fancy sommit a bit stronger I can always run across to the pub and buy you a bottle of red?"

"Oh I'm sure Steve and Liz wouldn't have any moral qualms about selling it to you an' all, would they Peter?" Carla answered with a snicker, removing her coat and hanging it on the coat rack along with her purse before stepping back into the flat's main room, "but honestly, fizzy water suits me just fine."

"That's good to hear," Peter answered as he closed the oven and removed the mitts from his hands, "glad to know I won't have to pour you into a cab tonight. You know seein' as how your license is still suspended from your drink drivin' charge last November." He smirked at his own dig, making his way around the kitchenette and leaning against the counter.

But Carla visibly winced at his words, and he felt a pang of guilt shoot through him. He closed his eyes and hung his head.

He didn't know why he was feeling so guilty about what he said. After all it wasn't like she was all sunshine and light when he was trying to help her with her drinking problem. He could have thrown a lot worse at her, but for the life of him he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was the way she was standing in front of him now, leaning her body onto the chair behind her, her hands gently gripping the wooden backing.

'_Smooth Barlow,'_ he chastised himself, _'Talk about seduction: when the opportunity presents itself, insult the woman! You sure know how to reel 'em in mate!'_

"I'm sorry," he whispered truthfully, his eyes raising from the floor and raking over her profile, "I was bang out of order then."

She attempted a half-hearted chuckle, "no you're alright," she responded, turning to face him, "you only said the truth after all."

"Maybe," he answered, "but that doesn't mean I had any right to throw it at you like that."

"I've said worse to you," she said quietly, " 'onestly Peter, it's okay. I've got thick skin alright?" she smiled and he felt himself melt a little

"Okay," he whispered, "well I hope you like Thai food," he said enthusiastically, moving back around the counter and putting back on his oven mitts.

"Mmmm I love it," she exclaimed, sauntering closer to the counter where he was now dishing the food onto plates and bent forward to lean on her elbows, "I take it you didn't make this from scratch then?" she wrinkled her nose humourously as her finger poked the aluminum tray in front of her.

Peter chuckled, "I didn't think the best way to start rekindle our relationship would be by giving you food poisoning."

"Oh I don't know," she said rather seductively, trying to keep the atmosphere light and fun once more, "could've 'ad its advantages…"

"Is that right?" he asked pausing momentarily as he took in the sight of her bent forward over the counter and smiled, _'this may be easier than I thought'_

"Mmmm," she nodded, "I mean it really does depend on your nursin' skills though. Tell me Mr. Barlow, are you more of the 'here's some tablets, I'll leave you to it' kind, or do you prefer drawing baths, giving backrubs and tucking in your patients, you know, being incredibly attentive like?" she purred, biting her lip and gazing up at him through her long eyelashes

'_Fuck that's sexy,'_ he felt a heat spreading through him and couldn't resist flicking his tongue along his bottom lip as he too leaned on his elbows to face her,

"Well, I 'ave been told," he said plucking a perfectly cut spring roll half from one of the trays and raised it to her lips, "that my bedside manner is impeccable…"

She smirked at him and shook her head in amusement before seductively taking the spring roll in her mouth and biting down on a morsel, moaning with pleasure at its taste. Peter felt his cock twitch in his pants as he watched her run her thumb along the corner of her mouth, catching the small crumbs left behind by the flaky pastry before sucking them off.

'_Ice water, ice water, cold shower, cold shower…'_ he mumbled in his mind as he popped the remainder of the spring roll half into his mouth and stood back upright.

"Come on, let's dig in before this gets cold eh?" he stated grasping the heated plates in his hands and maneuvering around the counter towards the dining room table.

'Well this looks delicious," Carla complimented, sitting down in the chair he pulled back for her, "oh ever the gentleman," she teased, as he pushed her chair in a little closer to the table.

His hand sharply covered hers on the table, splaying it flatly upon the tablecloth almost to the point of being painful. She could feel his hot breath as it moved between the strands of hair falling down her back and noted that he was bending down, almost hovering above her. The atmosphere shifted again, now much darker, almost sinister in feeling. It swooped around her, circling her, constricting her.

She couldn't move.

Her breathes became short and rapid, her breasts pressing uncomfortably against her blouse, threatening to burst through the now tight material.

He gently swiped her hair to one shoulder and placed a gentle suckling kiss upon her smooth neck. He heard the table move courtesy of her knee, knowing she jolted in surprise to his unexpected seduction and he smiled against her skin as he continued his assault on her neck, suckling and kissing with more perseverance as he made his way to just behind her ear. She exhaled deeply as his tongue flicked the sensitive flesh behind the lobe before grasping it between his teeth, drawing a heedy gasp from her in the process.

"I may be a lot of things Carla," he whispered as his tongue traced the outer edges of her ear while his other hand gently brushed along her cheek, feeling her melt into his caresses, "but 'gentle', definitely doesn't come to mind with what I 'ave in store for you…"


	4. Chapter 4

She couldn't quite catch her breath as Peter's fingers continued to stroke her cheek while the weight of his words hung heavily over her.

'_In store for me?'_ she thought frantically, _'what the 'ell does that mean?'_

His lips continued to glide effortlessly around her throat, laying soft kisses in their wake as he searched for her pulse point.

"Peter…"

Her voice had hit a lower register, a barely audible whisper that certainly would have not reached his ears had they not been so close to her mouth. But her calling his name in that delectably throaty hum of hers caused him to smile against her soft skin in pure ecstasy.

He was so bloody aroused by her physical responses, and no longer confident that he would be able to control himself for the remainder of the night. He knew he had to pull back, to put distance between their highly receptive bodies before they reached the point of no return, but there remained that niggling little doubt in the back of his mind that she was no longer interested. He just needed reassurance that she was still as attracted to him as he was to her and was unable to contain the flutter that resonated deep within him when he found his target: the throbbing vein in her throat that now pulsed at a rapid speed against his moist lips.

But in his current euphoria, Peter failed to register the concerned undertone in her voice when she called to him. Her body was responding to him of its own accord, so much so that she pressed her thighs together in an effort to both quash the rising heat pooling between her legs, and to offer her some sort of relief from her building arousal. Though her heart chastised her to just let go to this man whom she both loved and lusted for, her brain flashed images of the last time she had given up control and allowed herself to be seduced by a man she loved…

"_**You've got to go," she mumbled against his lips, trying half-heartedly to push him away but he ignored her plea and pulled her face back towards his own, his lips descending upon hers once again, "I'm serious Liam!" She stated more forcefully, succeeding in pushing him away ever so slightly. "Don't look at me like that," she implored him hoarsely**_

"_**Do you ever stop giving orders?" He asked with a smile, his hands falling from her face and caressing her body possessively towards his own so she could feel his arousal**_

_**She moaned and gasped at the contact, her swollen lips instinctively moving closer to his, her eyes glazing over with lust and desire, "I'm trying to be strong for us both," she tried to reason with him**_

_**Liam's hands moved back up to cup her face, his lips finding hers again and erotically capturing her top lip between his with a passion that burned straight through to her core, yet somehow she found the strength to push away again.**_

"_**Why are you doing this?" she pleaded with him, **_

'_**why now? I can't be slighted by you Liam not again…'**_

"What?"

Her eyes flew open. She was back in Peter's flat, her eyes now looking into the bookie's concerned ones.

"Wh-what?" she stuttered uncertainly

Peter's brown eyes continued to bore into hers as he dropped to his knees beside her chair. He had stopped his caresses the moment he felt her tense up. The fingers he kept firmly under his hand began to tremble so profoundly upon the table that the bottle of mineral water itself began to shake. He had no idea what would provoke such a response but worry overtook him and he shifted to get a better view of her face. "You said 'Why are you doing this?'" he answered quietly, "and it sounded almost," he swallowed hard as he tried to form the description properly, "pained."

Embarrassment flooded through her and she visibly slouched in her chair. _'Great move Car,'_ she berated herself, _'God, he must think I'm a right nutter now!'_ She could feel the tears beginning to form and hurriedly freed her hand from Peter's now gentle grasp, excusing herself as she made way to the bathroom.

Peter watched as she shut the door behind her before closing his eyes and bowing his head. 'What the hell was that about?' he thought in confusion. He'd never seen her react like that- no…no that was a lie. He had seen her resort into an embarrassed shell of herself once before…

"_**Otherwise I'd 'ave bit your arm off."**_

"_**Yeah yeah," she sighed dismissively sitting down on her chaise and slumping forward defeatedly, "nuff said." **_

"_**Your very smooth toned arm. I've got eyes you know. You're beyond gorgeous; you're off the scale!'**_

That night seemed so long ago now. So much had occurred to the both of them since she first admitted her attraction to him; the first time she had placed her soft lips deliciously upon his only to have him respond for a second then push her away. He remembered how she hid her face behind her hands, ashamed of the way she recklessly threw caution to the wind when she really had no intention of doing so. And now she practically reacted the same way as he recklessly attempted to seduce her.

How could he have been so careless? With a sigh he rose to his feet and, with a final longing look towards the bathroom, turned and began cleaning up the overturned salt and pepper shakers that had fallen over when Carla's knee had made contact with the underside of the table. _'She's probably coming up with an excuse to leave now,' _his conscience berated him, _'so much for the whole make her feel comfortable malarkey before proposing your indecent intentions eh Barlow? You ponce!' _ Scoffing at the voice in his head, the bookie sat down in the chair opposite of where Carla had been sitting moments earlier, and began working on his apology and the reasons why she should stay.

Carla stood with her back pressed against the bathroom door for minutes simply trying to catch her breath. She would be lying if she said she wasn't blown away by the events that just occurred at the bookie's dining room table. Sure when she first accepted his dinner invitation earlier that evening she had been hoping to reignite some harmless flirting, allowing it to grow over the next few weeks as they saw each other in the street while he settled back to a somewhat normal routine following his disaster of a blessing, before finally making her move.

_But this…_

She swallowed hard. She hadn't expected him to take control like he did tonight, and her loosing herself to his ministrations only fueled her anxious state. After the night of her dress fitting, the night Liam succeeded in garnering the control in their mutual attraction for each other, she vowed never to give up the reins again. When she was in driver's seat, everything was contained: her emotions were restricted, her heart firmly guarded. But when Liam had taken control she lost herself to her vulnerability, her heart and body lay open for him to do as he pleased. Once she remembered there were more than just the two of them involved in their affair, she had been able to garner some of her self-control back until she could make a sensible choice.

But not enough…

Not _nearly_ enough…

No. No matter how hard she tried, she was unable to make a rational decision regarding her and Liam following that night. And that is why on her hen night, following some gentle prodding from the 'voice of reason' Leanne Battersby, she finally decided to end the war between her head and her heart and follow the latter, for the first time in a long time, to the man she loved more than life itself. But once again her lack of control had ended in her heartbreak. Maria was pregnant; and no matter how much he may have denied it, Carla knew that the moment he found out, Liam would have remained with the hairdresser and played happy families while she seeped into a depressive state at having her heart tossed so viciously aside by him again. The events that followed only added to the tragedy of the situation, and would serve as a not so subtle reminder that, while she was in control of her emotions, it was Tony who had controlled their future. She had foolishly taken her eye off the ball, too infatuated with the possibility of being with Liam for the rest of her life to notice that her insanely jealous fiancée had moved the goalposts.

Something she promised would never happen again.

When her feelings for Peter surfaced, she tried desperately to just remain friends with him, even after shamelessly throwing herself at him and having him softly reject her advances. But when she had found out about Nick and Leanne's sordid affair, she found herself vying for Peter's affections with much more vigor than even she had ever anticipated. When it all came out in the open following the tram crash, she knew what Leanne, Nick and Peter must have thought of her, and it was easier for her to let them believe it. Yes, it was less messy to let them think that she was a homewrecking slut than to open her chest and divulge the real reason.

After all, only one other person knew the truth now...

And _she_ had voiced her concern about this so-called dinner tonight before kissing Carla's cheek and heading back to her flat above Audrey's salon.

In the flat she could hear Peter shifting around, most likely settling into his chair. _'Or maybe he's so turned off at your reaction that he's out there right now making excuses on how to end this farce of a night early. Frigid cow,'_ her mind scolded her.

She wondered if that pesky voice in her head was right; had she ruined possibly her one and only chance to be with Peter? Would that be the last time she felt his supple lips on her skin? His stubble, soft yet rough, as it glided under her jaw, his fingers masterfully caressing her cheek, his breath hot against her ear...

She pushed herself from the door, quickly turned on the cold tap and stuck her wrists under the cold, rushing water in an effort to quash her ever growing arousal. She was loosing control again, and in her heart she knew she needed to leave before she lost herself entirely. Turning off the tap and drying her hands, she exhaled deeply and stepped back into the flat.

Peter looked up as Carla stepped back into the main room and could immediately sense that she was on edge. Her fingers were knotted and she shifted nervously from foot to foot, her eyes briefly resting on the door. _'She's gonna bolt Barlow,'_ his conscience chided him, _'if you're going to convince her to stay now would be the time…'_

"Carla," he began slowly, "listen I am so-"

"No, look it's okay Peter, alright? But umm, I just," she sighed heavily, "I just think it would be best if I go."

"No," he shook his head and kept his eyes downcast for a moment, silently berating himself; all his planning, all his work ruined because he couldn't restrain his baser urges. He raised his gaze to meet hers, but she kept her head down as she shrugged on her coat, "no come on, don't be daft," he pleaded as he rose to his feet and approached her, "please Carla," his voice dropped to a desperate whisper as his fingers lightly grasped her elbow, "don't leave."

"Peter-" her voice wavered, laying her uncertainty exposed before him, but he chose instead to focus on the way his name effortlessly rolled off her tongue. He couldn't stop the face splitting grin that tugged his lips up towards his eyes at the way she unknowingly dropped the **'t'** in his name each and every time she let down her defenses around him. He knew she made an effort to hit every syllable of his name when in public as well as in private, but during those rare occurrences, those times when she was feeling particularly vulnerable and insecure, his name crossed her lips with so much ease it was almost natural.

He had never been comfortable with a woman's vulnerability, whether it be in relationships or otherwise.

But this wasn't just any woman. This was Carla.

And her vulnerability was what had attracted him to her in the first place; not sexually, but emotionally. Under her tough exterior lay someone quite akin to himself. Truth was he needed no help in being attracted to her physically, he had always found himself drawn to her, even while he was dating Leanne; but he had never thought for a second that she would be interested in him, and even if he had an inkling that she was, he had promised himself to give his engagement the full go. He didn't want to be seen by others around him as one continuous affair after another; like the way he saw his father.

While her vulnerability at this particular moment could have brought him to his knees in a millisecond, he had to remind himself of why she was here in the first place. His proposal.

He couldn't let her go. Not yet. Not until he presented his offer. And once again, Peter regained control of his emotions and prepared to deliver his well-rehearsed speech…

But he made the mistake of allowing his eyes to sweep over her profile. She was biting her plump lip and he found himself inwardly groaning at the thought of doing it himself. He raised his thumb and gently pulled at her chin, effectively releasing the lip from her teeth. She lifted her uncertain gaze to his and he smiled reassuringly to her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I was bang out of order before." She averted her eyes from his and focused on a cabinet in the kitchen while he continued, "I understand completely if you want to go, but-" he paused. _'Come on man! What__** are**__ you trying to say Barlow?'_

Carla looked back to him questioningly. He was staring dumbfounded at the floor, his brows furrowed in confusion. "But _**what **_Peter?" She asked firmly

His eyes met hers and to his utter shock the words he spoke next were not part of his previously well rehearsed speech, but from a part of him-the part residing deep in his chest- that could only speak the truth, "But I don't want you to."

"What? After all of this, you still want me to stay for dinner?" she chuckled humourlessly

"No." Peter answered honestly

She felt her heart sink, _'Well that's what you get for giving him control Connor! Well done.' _

"I want you to stay the night…"


	5. Chapter 5

"Didn't expect to see you in here again tonight mate," Steve said as he slid into the booth opposite Peter, "thought you had plans to uhh 'work things out' with Carla?"

Peter snorted into his glass of orange juice, "yeah, it umm, it didn't go exactly to plan."

Steve leaned his elbows upon the table between them, "Does anything ever go to plan where women are involved?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrows

"Good point," Peter muttered.

"So come on then," Steve implored, crossing his arms and leaning back, "tell us what happened between you that had her marching angrily away from your flat and into my cab office."

"What?" Peter's gaze curiously pinned on his friend, "you saw her?"

"Might 'ave done," Steve shrugged his shoulders

"You playing dumb now?" The bookie questioned

"Maybe,"

Peter lowered his gaze to the table, "did she get home alright?" his voice lowered to a somber tone

"Don't know. She didn't ask to be driven home."

Peter's head snapped up, "what?" At the bookie's imploring gaze, Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "well, where did she go then?"

"Oh I can't tell you that mate, you know," Steve flicked his wrist in front of him, "driver/passenger confidentiality thing."

Peter leaned in across the table, "Steve, you're a cabbie mate, not a doctor. You can tell me where you took her."

"Yeah, unless the '_said passenger'_ specifically asked me not to."

"And did '_said passenger'_ do so?"

"She did yeah."

Peter dropped his head onto his crossed arms and exhaled in frustration.

"There, there mate," Steve stated with a supporting pat on the bookie's shoulders, "come on, just tell uncle Steven what 'appened eh? I might be able to give you some well needed advice."

Peter's head popped up, "advice?" his eyebrow quirked up, "from the serial marry-er?"

"Says the bigamist…" Steve shot back humourously

"Good point," he sighed, taking a sip of his orange juice as he leaned back in the booth again. He didn't know what exactly to tell the man across from him. He could sure use some advice but he wanted to keep the details to a very bare minimum.

He just couldn't bear to tell Steve about his dirty little proposition…

He didn't even get the chance to propose it to Carla herself…

After convincing her to stay for dinner, which they ate in awkward silence, he finally broached the subject of the wedding blessing; offering her a meager apology for his behaviour which promptly, and for reasons he wasn't quite sure of, turned into a heated argument.

So passionate and raging was the argument between them that he didn't realize he had called her a manipulative and scheming slut until he felt the stinging slap resound across his cheek. When his gaze met hers, he had been stunned to see the tears forming behind her sorrowful green eyes.

He reached out to her, his heart pounding furiously in his ears as he whispered a heartfelt apology but she moved faster than he could have anticipated, grabbing her purse and coat and practically flying down the stairs of his flat all the while leaving him calling her name behind her.

He remained in his flat for a couple of hours, nervously pacing the living room and repeatedly calling her cell phone only to be put directly to voicemail. It was only then that he found himself grabbing his jacket and heading to the pub across the way.

"Let's just say, I may have had some unresolved issues from the wedding blessing," he whispered ashamedly as he twirled the glass in his hands, "and it might have resulted in my calling her something pretty awful Steve."

Steve nodded his head before slapping his palms on the table, "right, flowers and chocolate!"

"Sorry?" Peter shook his head in confusion

"To beg her forgiveness mate," Steve explained as if he were talking to a child, "we're gonna head out and pick out the nicest bouquet you can find at this hour, and then buy chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate!"

"Steve, I don't really think…" he trailed off as the cabbie cocked his head and stared at him pointedly, "no, you're right. Grand gesture might just do it."

"And if it doesn't, you've got some nice flowers to give Dierdre come tomorrow, and some chocolates to binge on when you're sat in your flat all alone," he snickered, "come on, let's go I know a place that's open 24 hours!"

"Fine." Peter acquiesced reluctantly, knowing this grand gesture idea would most likely backfire. He halted suddenly upon rising to his feet when he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. He glanced at the clock in the Rovers, _'just after midnight,'_ he thought curiously as he pulled his phone out, _'who would be calling at this time?'_ Glancing at the mobile, the name _Carla Connor_ flashes up on the screen. Giving Steve a 'one moment' signal with his finger, Peter answered his mobile as it rang a second time. "Carla?" he asked, sounding surprised. _Why is she phoning me? Has she forgiven me?_

"Why did you invite me over?" she slurs. _'Well I guess she is out hitting the bottle then,'_ he thought and frowned. _'Why did she have to get into this state?'_ he thought angrily before worry set in, _'Is she on her own? Should I go get her?'_

"Carla, are you okay? You sound strange."

"I'm not the strange one here Barlow, you are." She accused him slurring once again. _Strange? How have I come off strange? _

"Carla, have you been drinking?"

"What's it to you?" _That's a yes then._

"I'm- curious is all. Where are you?" _Tell me where you are baby, let me make it up to you…_

"In a p-pub."

"Which one?" He breathes frustratingly. _Give me an honest answer Connor. Or when I find you so help me… _

"A pub in town,"

_ARGH confounded woman!_ "How are you getting home?"

"I'll find a way." He pinched the bridge of his nose. This conversation was not going exactly to his plan. _Just keep her talking Barlow…_

"Which bar are you in? Which town?"

"Why did you invite me over to yours for dinner, Peter?"

"Carla, where are you, tell me now dammit!" his temper began to kick in full swing. _'I need to know where the hell she is,'_ he thought angrily, _'I just need her to be okay.' For fuck sake, Carla! _

She giggled, "You're so… domineering," she giggled once more. _'Oh that's a wonderfully arousing sound,'_ he thought closing his brown eyes and running his fingers through his hair

"Carla, so help me, where the fuck are you?"

She continued to giggle, setting his groin alight. "I'm in Didsbury… s'long way from Weatherfield." _Oh not as far as you want it to be, baby. _

"Where in Didsbury?" he repeated once more, trying to control himself from shouting into the phone and causing a scene.

"Bye Peter."

"Carla!" he exclaimed, but she has already hung up. _FUCK!_ He looked at the screen, desperately hoping it would tell him where she was but to no avail.

"I know where she is," Steve said, "Or at least I know where I dropped her off."

"Are you serious?" Peter asked hopefully

"Well like I said I know where I dropped her off, but whether she's still there or not," he shrugged his shoulders apologetically

"Can you take me there?" he asked grabbing his jacket off the seat after Steve's nod and hurriedly making his way to the door

He climbed into the passenger seat of the car, taking out his phone and redialing the last number hurriedly, "how long will it take us to get there?"

"About twenty minutes give or take if I put my foot down,"

"Put it down mate!" Peter ordered, "She didn't sound too clever,"

_Answer Carla, answer. _

"Hel-hello?" she answered sounding almost confused.

"I'm coming to get you," Peter stated firmly before hanging up as Steve revved the engine and sped off down the road.

* * *

It was twenty-two minutes later when Steve pulled up in front of one of the many bars in downtown Didsbury. Peter's eyes quickly scanned the area, looking out of the passenger window and landing on Carla: leaning against the brick wall of one pub, looking quite unsteady on her feet. A man around the same age as himself was standing far too close to her for the bookie's liking. _Is that jealousy?_ He wondered fretfully, before instinct had him opening the car door and walking towards them. His jealousy turned to white-hot rage as he watched the slimeball's hands slide from his side to reach for the disoriented factory boss's face. Peter's fists clenched as he quickened his pace, vaguely aware that Steve was now eagerly following him.

_Get your filthy hands off her you slimy ponce!_

He inched closer to hear Carla weakly refusing the man, _"No Rory, stop–" _her hands were pushing back against his chest trying to find a way out of his embrace, and Peter smirked angrily as this Rory bloke continued being resistant. _That's right, keep giving me a reason you worthless piece of -_

"I believe the lady said no." Peter's voice boomed. Rory turned his head to the side, still not releasing the factory boss's shoulders, further angering the bookie. _Fuck off now ponce. It's way past your bedtime you dick! _

"Did anyone ask you?" Rory replied tersely. Peter glowered at him, his upper lip twitching into a snarl as he took a step forward; the severity of just what could have happened to the woman currently being restrained against the wall had he not showed up when he did, flooded through him and made him instantly sick.

All of a sudden Carla doubled over Rory's arm and spewed a small amount of red liquid on the ground just between the two men before surrendering into a fit of dry-heaves.

"Shit! Carla you alright?" Rory asked in concern, but before he could stabilize her, Peter reflexively reached for Carla's dark hair swiftly tugging it back over her shoulders out of the line of fire. Brushing past a bewildered Rory, the bookie gently lead her over to the nearby flowerbed out of the public eye.

"If you're going to throw up again, do it here love." He soothingly rubbed her back in small circles with one hand – the other held her hair back in a makeshift ponytail.

Carla tried to resist Peter awkwardly, before she found herself in yet another violent spasm of dry heaves. Peter closed his eyes and turned his head in the other direction, as the sound of her poor stomach lurching had him holding back a gag.

When she finally rose to her feet, Peter pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed the corners of her full, plump lips before she shakily plucked it from his hand and tentatively pressed it to her mouth. Peter sighed deeply, angry with himself for allowing her to get herself into this state in the first place. As they slowly made their way back towards Steve, he resolved that he wouldn't let her out of his sight for the remainder of the night. _'I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if she was mugged or ra-' _He shook his head to rid himself of that unpleasant image and unknowingly held onto her a little tighter.

Rory still lingered outside of the bar, watching them make their way back from the side of the building. He opened his mouth to speak to the factory boss but thought better of it the second his eyes latched onto the bookie's blazing orbs.

"I'll uh… see you around Carla." He muttered as he slinked back off into the building under Steve's watchful eye. Peter gestured to the cabbie to give him and Carla some space to chat, and with a nod Steve followed Rory into the bar.

'_Alone with her again,'_ Peter thought with a worrying frown, '_should I say something?_

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly into the handkerchief she still had pressed to her lips.

"What are you sorry for Carla?" The words flew out of his lips before he had a chance to mull them over

"The phone call mainly, throwing up... yeah, probably more so the latter," she bowed her head an inch more as embarrassment flooded through her.

But Peter couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. _I'm glad it was me you called, baby._

"We've all been here, though perhaps not quite as dramatically as this," Peter responded a little too dryly. He could actually see her back stiffen in defense

"Yeah, well not all of us have cigarettes and a flat to use as kindling at our disposal now do we?" She snapped back

"Touche," his lips twitched at her biting words. _Her and that smart-ass mouth…_

"But that was a mistake that I learned bitterly from Carla. This, however, is not the first time you've put yourself in harm's way simply for the sake of drowning your sorrows in multiple glasses of booze! Do you make a habit of this kind of behaviour?" _What are you doing man? Fucking scolding her? For goodness sake you don't even do this with your own kid!_

"No _dad_," she says a little off handily. "And for your information I'm not drunk! I've never been known to get drunk off of one glass of wine before."

"One glass eh?" Peter scoffed, "and just how big was the glass Carla? Bottle-sized?"

"Oh you know what? Piss off Barlow!" She pushed herself away from the wall and placed her hands on her hips, her body swaying slightly but still managing to look incredulously at him, "You should know by now that when I fall off the wagon I at least own up to 'ow much I've necked. So," she jabbed him in the chest with her finger, "when I tell you I 'ad one glass, I 'ad _one_ glass! Alright?!"

She turned sharply on her heel with the full intention to march away from him before her eyes swam in a hazy blur. She stumbled suddenly, falling into Peter's arms as he propped her up against him.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, I've got you," the bookie stated reassuringly as he wrapped his arm tightly around her waist while swinging one of hers around his neck, "come on, let's get you to the car."

"No, I don't need your help -" she began to protest, "I- I can get home on me own." She weakly pushed against him but his grip on her was rather tight.

"Oh, I have no doubts that you can love, you're doing a marvelous job of it too an' all." He teased

She stopped moving forwards, "Am I?" Her head dropped to her feet and like a toddler taking their first steps, she gingerly placed her foot out in front of her, before giggling as her weight shifted from the back foot to the front. "Well ho-hey! Look at me go!" She pushed herself away from the bookie and threw her arms out to either side of her, steadying herself as if she was walking on a tight-rope, "heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe," she repeated to herself before stopping mid-step and holding her foot out in front of her, "Oi Barlow!" she called over her shoulder, "I must 'ave got some great taste in footwear if I do say so myself! What do you reckon?"

Peter's brow furrowed in confusion as he watched Carla remain utterly fascinated by her boot for a long moment before continuing her walk along her imaginary tight-rope.

"heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe…"

This wasn't her usual drunken behaviour. Normally he'd find her in a depressive state, wallowing in self-hatred and loathing, then, as the booze wore off, she'd become defensive and embarrassed; resorting to harsh piercing words and flinging insults from that smart mouth of hers. Finally she would become remorseful in her sober state and, dare he say it, almost shy as she would apologize profusely for lashing out at him, admitting that she did indeed have a problem with her drinking. In fact, she was just like him in many ways: they would both routinely hit four of the five steps of grief in their drunkenness: denial and isolation, depression, anger and acceptance.

But this behavior, this almost giddy, childlike Carla, was not at all usual. Not routine in the slightest, and it left him completely dumbfounded.

Peter took his eyes off of her long enough to glance in the open door of the pub. He locked eyes with a concerned looking Steve, who was standing at the bar listening to that Rory bloke and the bartender speak rather animatedly, and gave him a questioning look. Just as the three men began to make their way towards him, a flash of blue lights pulled his attention back towards the sidewalk, where he saw Carla now walking on her tight-rope back to him, giggling to herself and shouting something to him about being a shoe-in for 'Cirque du Soleil'…

…and completely unaware of the two officers stepping out of their car just behind her.

* * *

"Look officer, I'm telling you she isn't intoxicated, alright?" Rory stated with a raised voice.

"Really?" The younger officer questioned sarcastically, using his head to gesture to where Carla now sat slumped against the outer wall of the bar, seemingly asleep and propped up by Steve, "so would you call that her normal disposition then?"

"No, it isn't but I can assure you it's not her drunken disposition either," Peter snapped back, thoroughly agitated with this line of questioning. They had been going around in circles with this officer for what felt like hours while his partner was off questioning the bartender.

"Peeeeterrrr!" A singsong voice called to him and he turned to see Carla, now awake, leaning on Steve's knees with her elbow and beckoning him towards her with her finger.

He dropped to his knees quickly at her side, his hand caressing her hair softly, "yes love, you okay?"

She smirked at him, and wagged her finger at him, "you are being shnippy Peter Barlow, and you sh-shouldn't be shnippy with them coppers or they'll bang you up" she held her hands up on either side of her face and closed them together, making a '**shhhhhhhoooom**' sound, "and then they'll throw away the key!" she tossed an imaginary key over her shoulder with a whistle.

Peter couldn't help but smile at her, "is that right?"

"Mmm Mmm" she nodded, "and I- I for one wouldn't like that,"

"You wouldn't eh?"

"No,"

"Why?"

"Cause I'd miss you,"

"Oh," His smile got larger as he gazed at her glossed over eyes. Worried as he was about her current state, he couldn't help but admit that she was damn near adorable right now. As if reading his thoughts, she giggled once more and sunk her teeth into her lower lip before frowning and beginning to fidget.

"Easy there darlin'," Steve stated as he attempted to keep her from falling over, but she was already attempting to shrug her jacket off her slender shoulders, "no, no, no I think you should keep that on,"

"But Steeeeeve I'm hoooooooooooot!" she whined and the two men stifled a laugh

"Be that as it may," Steve continued, gently easing on her jacket, "There's a nip in the air Carla and I think you should stay warmer rather than cooler."

She stuck her tongue out at him and pouted, crossing her arms over her chest and furrowing her brows.

Steve looked at Peter and gestured to the factory boss with his thumb, "Is it wrong that I want to give her anything she wants when she does that?"

"That's 'cause you're a pushover." Peter chuckled

"Oh and I suppose that you could just resist this face could you? Eh?" Steve asked defensively, turning Carla's head by the chin towards the bookie as if for emphasis

"Oh I'm even worse mate, I'd buy her a whole wardrobe of shoes,"

"Pretty ones!" Carla piped up, "boots, and pumps, and sht-shtilettos, and-and ooooh and _**boots**_!"

"Ahh you already said boots," Steve frowned

"It needed repeating."

"Sorry to interrupt," a voice called from over Peter's shoulder, and they all glanced up to see the older officer standing with the bartender just behind them

"Hiiiiiii!"Carla waved to him, "Ohh Ohhh," she stuck her hand up in the air like an excited child at school.

The officer stifled a laugh, "yes?"

"Do you carry a gun?"

"I am an AFO trained officer ma'am so yes I do,"

"Is it loaded?"

"Yes ma'am it is."

There was a pause, before "can I see it?"

"No ma'am you cannot."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest "I 'ave used a gun before you know?" She stated knowingly

"Have you?" the officer again had difficulty curbing his chuckle

"Yup," Carla leaned her head against the brick wall and closed her eyes, "shot me ex-husband in the shoulder while he tried to burn down my factory with us two inside."

The officers looked at each other and then to the other men in stunned silence, "seriously?" the younger one asked

"Yep. Wanted us to die in each other's arms in a backstreet knicker factory surrounded by women's underwear. He always did fancy himself a romantic… Scottish psycho…" she mumbled

"So what did you find out?" Peter asked the officers, trying his best to get back to the topic at hand

"Well from the statements from both the bartender and the gentleman who was with Mrs Connor when you arrived, it appears that she may have had something slipped in her drink."

"You what?" Peter asked incredulously

"I only served her one alcoholic drink mate," the bartender stated to the bookie, "she were fine at first, but then I could hear her start slurrin' her words when she was making a phone call on her mobile shortly afterwards. I 'ad my suspicions, but she kept nursin' the drink so I couldn't take it away from her."

"So he gave me the head's up and that's why I was trying to take her to the hospital when you two showed up," Rory piped in, "but she's stubborn like anything! Took me forever just to get her outside."

"It is, however, imperative that you get her to the hospital as soon as possible so they can run tests to find traces of the drug in her system. The quicker they catch it after ingestion the better," the officer said.

"So uhh, you won't be arresting her for drunk and disorderly then?" Steve questioned smugly to the younger officer,

"It would appear not," the man mumbled through gritted teeth.

"Right then," Peter linked his arms around Carla's waist and pulled her up to her feet, "Come on love, we're going to go for a little drive."

"Oh God," Carla whispered, her eyes peeking up in horror to Peter's beneath her lashes, "you're not going to drive me out to the middle of nowhere and leave me for dead are you?"

"Wha-" Peter shook his head in confusion "what?"

"You know what I mean Barlow don't play naive with me!" she poked him in the chest before stepping forward and stumbling, "Oh I don't feel so good…"

"I know you don't love, that's why we need to get you to hospital," Peter whispered reassuringly,

"Peter, do-don't be angry with me…" she stuttered shakily

"I'm not angry with you Carla," he answered softly, his arms holding her closer to his body as they slowly made their way to the car, "this wasn't your fault love,"

_Yeah, it were yours,_ he scolded himself

She turned in his grasp so her face was mere inches from his own, "no, I mean ab-about Leanne-"

"Carla-"

"I wanted to tell- wanted to tell you, believe me–"

"I know, it's okay let's just get you to the hospital okay-"

"bu-but that's the thing int'it?" she swayed in his grasp as a sudden dizziness overtook her senses. The street began to spin around her, faster and faster…

"Carla?"

"You-you wouldn't have believed me any road-" She whispered as the world around her spun once more in double speed before flipping on its side and rushing upwards. The last thing she heard before two arms halted her body from crashing into the pavement below was the loud _**"fuck" **_that escaped the bookie's lips…


End file.
